


Pink and Purple

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Marking, Rough Sex, Superhero Blaine, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are incredible, you know that? With or without the superpowers.” / “Superpowers…” Blaine echoes, shaking his head as he looks down at himself. “Is that what we’re calling them?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink and Purple

**Author's Note:**

> At several readers' request, and because I'm in love with Nightbird forever and always, here is a prequel of sorts to "Black and Blue," in which Blaine has discovered that he actually has superpowers and becomes the hero of New York City. Because every superhero has an origin story.
> 
> (Read "Black and Blue" here!: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3546023 )

“Babe, have you seen my bowtie?”

“That’s like asking if I’ve ever seen a pigeon in New York.”

Kurt finally looks up from his laptop when Blaine is silent in response, glaring at him under furrowed eyebrows. “Okay, sorry,” he laughs. “Which bowtie, honey?”

“Pink, white, and purple plaid. It goes perfectly with—“ Blaine gestures at his pink polo and dark purple pants, then continues rifling through his dresser.

“The one you wore two days ago with the—”

“—white button-up and pink chinos, yes.”

“Well, it can’t have gotten far…” Kurt racks his brain, trying to remember. They’d met up for dinner after their classes, then came home and— “I threw it at the bed when I took your clothes off.”

“Oh! Let me see if it’s…” Blaine gets down on the floor, lying on his stomach, then lifts the duvet so he can check under the bed. “Good thing we clean regularly… oh, I see it! It’s—ugh, I can’t reach it.” Blaine starts trying to squeeze himself under the bed.

Kurt snorts at the sight of Blaine’s ass wiggling around as he moves. He’s about to ask if Blaine needs help when—

“AAAH!” The foot of the bed suddenly lifts, throwing Kurt backwards and wedging him between the pillows and the wall. He catches his laptop before it can slide back and hit him in the face, but just as he's attempting to right himself, the head of the bed lifts too, the whole thing rising in the air with him still on it. “Blaine?!”

“Kurt?”

“What the hell is happening?”

“I don't know! I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“Mean to? What? _Are you doing this?_ ” Kurt, crawling as slowly and tentatively as a sloth across the bed, his heart a battering ram in his ribcage, lays down and drops his head over the side. His heart jumps to double-time when he spots his husband holding their bed above his head with both hands planted firmly underneath the frame.

Blaine’s eyes are huge, stunned as he gapes at his own hands. He’s breathing hard, though Kurt can tell at a glance that it’s from the shock of the situation and not physical exertion. It’s like the bed, and Kurt on top of it, weigh nothing. “I didn’t mean to,” he repeats, “I just tried to get under the bed, I don’t know what’s happening, Kurt, _help_ —”

Lowering the bed immediately seems the most logical solution to Blaine’s panic, but he doesn’t know how to do so without dropping it on himself or throwing Kurt off it. Instead, Kurt carefully slides off the side of the bed feet-first to land on the floor below, then goes to Blaine’s side and places a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Blaine, honey, you have to put it down, okay?”

“I don’t want to just drop it, how do I…?”

“Um… head of the bed first? Go ahead, just take it slow. Just bend and lean forward a little, I’ve got you.” He moves his hand to Blaine’s lower back as a steady support.

Blaine follows Kurt’s guidance, slowly bending at his knees and allowing the head of the bed to tilt closer to the floor. He knocks into the little black clock and the lampshade on the right nightstand, but eventually the feet of the bed frame touch the floor. Then, as he and Kurt step backwards together, he carefully lowers the rest of the bed. He lets go as soon as he can, backing away frantically and staring down at himself in horror. But he hits the old wooden dresser and instinctively grabs the edge of it; a large chunk of wood breaks off in his hand, and as he flings it away from himself in panic, it flies across the room and shatters the lightbulb hanging over their nightstand.

“Oh my god,” Blaine sobs, holding his hands in front of himself, scared to touch anything. He moves away from the broken dresser and drops to the floor.

Kurt gets down on his knees and reaches for him, trying to console him, but when Blaine grabs his arm, Kurt winces in pain and lets out a startled gasp.

Blaine lets go immediately, his face crumpling as he bursts into tears and curls up into a ball with his hands held close to his chest. “I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m—I hurt you, oh my god, baby, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening—”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m okay, you didn’t mean to, it’s—we’ll figure this out. I’m fine.” Kurt wants to scream. He wants this to make sense and knows it won’t, because what Blaine’s just displayed, and what Kurt just felt in Blaine’s touch, was a level of force that he can’t explain. He knows his arm is bruising, just from that quick grip, and he thanks whatever lucky stars he has that he’s wearing a long-sleeved henley and Blaine can’t see it.

“Kurt…” Blaine’s looking up at him, pleading, but he won’t reach for him again.

Kurt just comes closer and wraps his arms around his curled-up body, letting Blaine rest his head on his shoulder. “I’m okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I hurt you,” he whispers. “And I broke the—”

“I’m okay. And that dresser could use a little more character, anyway,” Kurt replies, kissing Blaine’s cheek and rubbing his back. His mind is still racing, but asking questions that Blaine clearly has no answers to will not help either of them right now.

“Kurt, what’s happening to me?”

Kurt doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to feed Blaine’s panic by saying as much. So, he just hugs Blaine closer. “We’ll figure it out.”

*****

Blaine’s super-strength doesn’t go away. It’s not a fluke, or some random adrenaline rush, or the surprising result of Blaine’s workout regimen, or any of the things Kurt has attempted to call it over the past couple of days. They go over the bed incident together, trying to remember every detail and pinpoint what was different enough about the situation to spark this change in Blaine’s body.

The answer, of course, is that there isn’t an answer. That morning was like any other morning in their home, and the moment things changed—when Blaine tried to get to the bowtie under their bed—was not significant in any way. What makes it even harder to determine is the fact that Blaine doesn’t feel any different. There was no rush of power, no tingly sensation, nor anything else that would signal a change in his physical capabilities.

Blaine doesn’t _feel_ stronger. He just knows that he is. And so, the only new feeling he’s experienced so far is that he is now terrified of his own body.

The morning after the bed incident, Kurt jolts awake to breaking noises and a loud, confused whimper when Blaine, half-asleep, slaps the nightstand trying to get to the alarm on his phone. The alarm does stop, but that’s because the phone and the corner of the nightstand that the phone was sitting on now lie in a pile of shattered glass, plastic, and splintered chunks of wood on the floor below. Kurt quickly turns on the lamp on his side and rolls over to find Blaine face-down on the mattress, curled up small and shaking with his hands in his hair. Kurt gets up on his knees to survey the damage, his mouth dropping open when he sees it, but he quickly collects himself and lays back down next to Blaine. He pulls him over to his side of the bed, away from the mess, and guides Blaine to lay with his head on Kurt’s chest.

Blaine refuses to leave the apartment after that.

The mirror on the medicine cabinet in their bathroom cracks when Blaine closes it. A half-cooked pancake ends up on the ceiling when Blaine attempts to flip it. He breaks the refrigerator door handle in half when he grips it too hard. He absentmindedly kicks off one of his house shoes and destroys another lamp. It gets to a point where Blaine starts to tiptoe around the apartment, keeping himself as contained as possible and trying not to touch anything at all. Including Kurt.

But Kurt replaces the mirror. He gets a ladder and a mop and cleans up the batter on the lofted ceiling after the pancake eventually falls. He fixes the refrigerator handle with gorilla glue. He buys a new lamp. He kisses Blaine and holds him—though Blaine won't hold him in return—and reassures him, like a mantra: _It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine._

Then one night, tossing and turning in his sleep, Blaine hits Kurt in the mouth. He wakes at Kurt’s muffled whine and sees his husband sat straight up in bed with his tongue and fingertips pressing at his bleeding lip.

Blaine apologizes tearfully, running to the kitchen for ice, opening and closing things as gently as he can—the ice tray becomes another casualty, anyway—before he returns to their bedroom and hands the ice, in a thin washcloth, to Kurt.

Kurt presses it to his mouth and tries to reassure him that he’s okay, but the fear and regret in Blaine’s eyes won’t go away. Blaine, full-on crying at this point, takes a blanket and a pillow to the couch and lays there for the rest of the night. He doesn’t let Kurt follow him.

Neither of them goes back to sleep.

Kurt shuffles into the living room the next morning still holding the pillow he’s been curled around all night.

Blaine, also clutching his pillow to his chest, looks up when he enters. His dark-circled, red-rimmed eyes fall to Kurt’s busted lip and the bruise at the side of his mouth, and when he says Kurt’s name, it’s loaded with exhaustion and guilt.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“No,” Blaine scoffs. “I feel like shit.”

“Me, too.” At the anguished look on Blaine’s face, Kurt quickly adds, “Not because of my lip. That’s okay. You, um... you didn’t hit me as hard as you could have.”

Blaine just covers his face with his hands and tries to breathe. They both know he could have broken Kurt’s jaw, if the household objects they’ve lost over the past week are any indication.

“I know it doesn’t make you feel any better, but honestly, it’s not that bad. It’s just… I couldn’t stop thinking about what all this means, you know?”

“I have to get control of this.”

“Yeah. And I have to stop pretending everything is fine. We both need to deal with it.”

Blaine looks at Kurt's mouth again and shakes his head. “I can't believe what I did to you. I'll never forgive myself for that.”

“Don't do this, Blaine,” Kurt sighs, crossing the room to sit next to him on the couch and wrap him in his arms. He is exhausted and unsettled but he doesn't want Blaine punishing himself for something he couldn't help. “Come here. I love you, and I forgive you, okay?”

Blaine resists the hug at first, but Kurt doesn't let him go; eventually, he sinks into Kurt's hold and buries his face in his neck. “I love you, too. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know. We’re going to figure this out for real, this time,” Kurt murmurs, rubbing Blaine’s back.

*****

Testing and exercising Blaine’s abilities proves difficult indoors, since Blaine still won’t go outside for fear of hurting someone or breaking things in front of anyone but Kurt, but they make do. They choose items for Blaine to play with that they are either willing to sacrifice or know how to repair.

They learn that Blaine’s power does have limits—he can rip a couch cushion in half, and hold the bed over his head, but can’t deadlift the refrigerator without a bit of effort. He can pop a tennis ball in his fist without trying, but it takes a much stronger grip and a little more force to break a ceramic mug. He can take a hit, but he isn’t invincible; punching another hole in the broken nightstand they’re planning to replace results in bruised knuckles that heal quickly, but not much else, and Kurt refuses to test this particular ability of Blaine’s any further.

Slowly but surely, Blaine finds control. He figures out the new way that his intentions translate into movements, and he re-learns and settles back into his body. He breaks fewer and fewer objects around the apartment, until those incidents become rare and he finally stops moving so gingerly through their home.  

He still won’t touch Kurt, though.

One afternoon, after things have just gotten back to near-normal, Kurt’s lounging in the living room, sipping coffee from a glued-back-together NYADA mug with the newest issue of _Vanity Fair_ propped up on his bent knees as he reads.

_Rihanna, born Robyn Rihanna Fenty 27 years ago in Bridgewood, Barbados, grew up in a family so close-knit that her report card had to be taken around to every aunt and uncle, and if she didn’t take it to them, they came over to her house to see it. She memorized—_

“— _She memorized textbooks—her mother was very strict about grades—and played sports with her two younger brothers, Rorrey and Rajad. But from an early age she was obsessed with music: first reggae artists Barrington Levy and Beres Hammond, then Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, and Whitney Houston.”_

Kurt turns around and looks up, smiling, expecting to see Blaine leaning over his shoulder.

Blaine is standing fifteen feet away.

“You—did you memorize that?” Kurt gasps, glancing at the small font on the magazine article before he looks back at Blaine.

Blaine’s eyes are so dilated that their hazel has all but disappeared. He blinks, scrunching his face up as he shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, his pupils have shrunk back to normal. “I don’t even know what you’re reading, I just— _zoomed in_ or something. I—I don’t know what just happened.”

They stare at each other for a very long moment before Kurt flips to another article and slowly holds up the magazine. “Can you make it happen again?”

Blaine looks at the page from where he’s standing, squinting hard, and then suddenly his eyes go wide and dilated again. “ _When Gordon Ramsay’s Manhattan restaurant, the London, lost its two-star Michelin rating in 2013, chef Ramsay wept. Even though he had previously sold the restaurant, he told the_ Daily _Mail_ _it was ‘a very emotional thing for any chef. it’s like losing a girlfriend.’ He still can’t talk about it and wouldn’t do so for_ Vanity Fair. _’_ —Oh no, Kurt, that’s so sad,” Blaine pouts. “…Oh my god, this is awesome!” he yells, his smile bigger and brighter than Kurt’s seen it in days.

He focuses in on Kurt’s face until Kurt shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“How are my pores looking?” Kurt jokes.

Blaine giggles. “You have forty-seven freckles on your nose. It’s always so hard to see them because you never let yourself tan—”

“That’s because I don’t tan, Blaine, I just burn.”

—but they’re so cute! And—baby, your eyes, I’ve never seen all the colors this clearly.” He sighs, a beatific grin on his face as his gaze softens and his eyes lose their hyper-focus. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be more gorgeous.”

Kurt sets the magazine down, blushing—Blaine’s compliments still surprise him from time to time—then crosses the room and kisses him. “You are incredible, you know that? With or without the superpowers.”

“Superpowers…” Blaine echoes, shaking his head as he looks down at himself. “Is that what we’re calling them?”

“Superpowers… special abilities… fifty dollars’ worth of industrial-strength glue?’ Take your pick,” Kurt teases, kissing his nose.

To Kurt’s relief, Blaine takes that last suggestion the way he intended and laughs, sticking his tongue out at him. “Okay, I prefer ‘superpowers.’”

“I thought you might.”

The next day, Blaine decides he’s ready to re-enter the world. He doesn’t want to go to a store or anywhere he could accidentally destroy something he’ll have to pay for, but if he keeps himself cooped up in the apartment any longer he’s going to lose his mind and drive Kurt insane. So, he declares that he’s going for a run and strides happily into the kitchen in his workout gear.

“Well, look at you,” Kurt says, leaning forward on his elbows at the kitchen table. “You’ve always been so hot in athletic shorts.”

Blaine tosses his eyes at the ceiling and steps closer. “Kurt…”

“Excited?”

“I am!” he nods, bouncing on his toes. “I just hope I don’t… I don’t know, mow down the other pedestrians or something.”

“No, that would be bad,” Kurt agrees. He reaches for Blaine’s hand and finds himself more relieved than he thinks he should be at the feeling of Blaine gently squeezing back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. My body’s not freaking out on me, I’m in control of myself again… I feel really good about this. It’s time to get my life back.”

A weight lifts from Kurt’s chest. He pulls on Blaine’s hand a little and says, “Then kiss me.”

Something flickers behind Blaine’s eyes and his mouth opens in surprise, as if he, too, has just realized how long it has been since he initiated that. He moves forward, though, his eyes on Kurt’s lips, and as he leans down, Kurt stretches in his chair to meet him.

It’s slow, and much more gentle than Blaine tends to kiss him—or, used to kiss him—but the intent is there. Blaine puts his hands on the sides of Kurt’s face; even though his touch is so light that it makes Kurt feel like a fragile baby bird instead of the husband that Blaine always wants—wanted—to keep close, it’s reminiscent enough of _their_ kisses that Kurt puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders to pull him closer, without even thinking.

He feels his head being tilted back, like Blaine’s finally pressing into it, but then Blaine’s mouth releases from his, his shoulders lift out of reach, and Blaine starts _screaming_.

Kurt opens his eyes.

Blaine is hovering about seven feet off the ground, heels over head, and flailing his arms in Kurt’s direction.

Kurt, frozen in place with his mouth dropped open, whispers, “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Are you just going to sit there? Help me!”

“Oh—sorry, wait—“

“Wait?! HOW?”

“Blaine, just—don’t freak out—”

“KURT, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

Kurt gets out of his chair and jumps as high as he can, grabbing both of Blaine’s wrists and pulling him down like some rogue party balloon. “Sorry, I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you! Breathe.”

Blaine nods, taking deep breaths as he keeps his eyes on Kurt, and slowly, his body levels off.

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“Can you stay focused for me? Can you keep yourself there?”

Blaine’s nostrils flare as he attempts to stay calm. “You mean… in the air.”

“Yes, exactly where you are.” If what Kurt thinks is happening is actually what’s happening, they need to know _now_. “I’m going to let go, okay? But only when you’re ready. Focus, honey.”

Still breathing deep, Blaine closes his eyes, and—it’s odd, in midair, but Kurt can actually see Blaine’s body relaxing into its current position, like he’s just floating comfortably in water instead of holding on for dear life. With Kurt holding his wrists, he stretches his limbs a little, settling into the feeling, then opens his eyes again. “Okay… you can let go.”

Kurt releases his arms, and Blaine stays where he is.

“Oh my god, I’m doing it, I’m controlling it… This feels amazing,” Blaine laughs, before he notices that Kurt has started backing away. “Wait, where are you going?”

Kurt, holding one hand over his pounding heart as he stares up at Blaine, leans back against the far wall of the kitchen and reaches out for him with the other.

It takes a little more focus, but Blaine eventually floats across the room and lands, feet-first, in front of Kurt. He falls into his arms, giggling hysterically, and lets Kurt wrap him in a hug. “Kurt, I—did you see that? Did you see what I just did?”

“Yeah. I-I saw.” Kurt’s eyes are welling up and spilling over. He isn’t sure why he’s reacting this way now, after everything he’s seen Blaine do this past week, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed and can’t get the image of his husband floating in midair— _literally defying gravity—_ out of his head.

Blaine swipes his thumbs over Kurt’s wet cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, this is just—it’s amazing, but this is a lot. I mean—oh my _god_ , Blaine…”

“Yeah. I can—I can—holy _shit_ …”

Blaine doesn’t end up going out on that run. Instead, he spends the day indoors, learning to fly.

*****

Kurt isn’t sure how to bring it up.

Ever since that strange, fateful morning three weeks ago, he has been as supportive and respectful as he can, trying his hardest not to react to Blaine’s changes in ways that will make him feel like a freak while still being practical about the situation. Kurt knows that Blaine has struggled to get used to his body again, but he’s gotten so much more control over his powers these past few days that he’s finally starting to feel comfortable. He’s even going outside again.

But he still won’t touch Kurt.

Kurt has been more affectionate than usual to make up for it, giving Blaine quick kisses and hugs here and there, finding any excuse to touch him, snuggling him from behind while he cooks, curling close when they sleep, or lying on his chest when they watch movies together. It started as reassurance for Blaine, constant reminders that Kurt isn’t scared of him and loves him just the way he is, even if “the way he is” has been updated recently. But more and more, as Blaine continues to pull away whenever their touches become even slightly heated, even when Kurt can see Blaine’s hands twitching towards him in desire that he refuses to satisfy, the increased affection starts to feel needy.

He’s good at telling Blaine what he wants, but this feels like a delicate situation.

Kurt keeps quiet in the shower most mornings, getting himself off to the idea of being pressed into their mattress, inescapably pinned in place by Blaine’s super-strength. He pictures Blaine picking him up and taking him against the wall. He thinks of the marks Blaine would leave on his hips, and how hard Blaine could fuck him. He thinks of Blaine doing exactly what he’s afraid to do: using his super-strength and making Kurt feel it.

Kurt comes every time, guilty and dissatisfied.

Despite his renewed control, Blaine is still afraid, and Kurt isn’t sure when he’ll finally stop being afraid. If he isn’t now, will he ever be? Kurt’s impatience is gnawing at him; he doesn’t want to push, but it has been three weeks—going on four—and that is _unheard of_ in their relationship. Watching Blaine change from being… well, _Blaine_ (his sunshine, his campfire, his connection to everything), to being this shadow husband who is no less sweet and full of personality but physically keeps Kurt at arm’s length has Kurt feeling lost.

He thinks he’s at the end of his rope.

They’re cuddling on the couch one evening watching TV, their Chinese takeout containers littering the new coffee table. Blaine is warm and solid under Kurt’s cheek where he’s got his head on Blaine’s shoulder, and one of his arms curls loosely around Kurt’s shoulders, rubbing lightly at his bicep with his thumb.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks softly, resting his hand on Blaine’s thigh and sitting up a little. He’s already afraid of what’s about to happen— _Please hold me like you mean it, please don’t push me away—_ and that puts an uneasy feeling in his chest, because he doesn’t want to be nervous around his husband.

“Yes, baby?”

_I want you back._

“I love you.”

Blaine looks over in surprise, catching the shakiness in Kurt’s tone. “I love you, too,” he says, turning and placing his hand on Kurt’s cheek. He slides their lips together, his touch gentle but firm, then pulls back and asks, “Is everything okay?”

Instead of answering, Kurt presses forward hesitantly and slides his hand a little higher on Blaine’s leg, waiting to see if Blaine will push him away again—

—and sure enough, he does, moving his hand to Kurt’s chin to give him one last kiss before he settles back into his seat. Blaine puts his arm back around Kurt’s shoulders so he can pull Kurt closer and kiss his forehead like they’re sixteen again and watching a movie in the Hummel-Hudsons’ living room, snuggling with Kurt the way they did when they didn’t know how to do anything else, because snuggling was enough.

It still is, sometimes, but this time isn’t one of them.

Kurt grunts in frustration, lifting Blaine’s arm from his shoulders and pushing away from him to sit on the other side of the couch. Rejection hasn’t been this familiar in years and the feeling sits like something rotten in his stomach.

“Kurt? What’s wrong?” Blaine’s own eyes have a hint of hurt behind them, but he’s not coming into Kurt’s space, instead choosing to rest his palm on the couch between them.

Kurt is horny and aching for it and feels the absence of his husband’s body like a hole in his side. And Blaine’s just sitting there, staring at him in confusion like he doesn’t feel it too. “I miss you!” Kurt yells, at a loss for any other way to explain it.

Blaine scoots closer. “I’m right here, sweetheart, I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Yes, you have. You won’t touch me.”

“Then what was I doing a few seconds ago?”

Kurt raises his eyes to the ceiling and sighs; he’s unsure if Blaine’s being obtuse on purpose, but he’s also unsure of which answer he prefers. He takes the hand Blaine has planted on the couch cushion and presses it to his own lap. “You won’t _touch me_ ,” he repeats slowly. “I know I’m not as strong as you are now, but I won’t break, Blaine.”

Blaine sucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them into a flat line as he feels Kurt, warm through his pajama pants and pressing up just slightly into Blaine’s touch. He rubs Kurt’s cock through the fabric—Kurt stifles a groan, and good lord, that’s all it takes now, it’s like he’s _starving_ —then lets go, taking Kurt’s wrist in his hand. “You could,” he says quietly.

Hmm. Obtuse on purpose, then.

“But I won’t, because you won’t hurt me.”

“Just because I won’t hurt you on purpose doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.”

Kurt knows that. He has thought about this, countless times over, and each time the reality of Blaine’s strength hits him, it thrills him in a way he thinks would frighten him if it were anyone but Blaine. “Okay. But you trust me to say something if it’s too much, don’t you?”

“I do, but I don’t want it to be too late when that happens. I—I don’t know how to touch you now that I’m like this.”

“Then let’s figure it out together, the way we have with everything else.”

Blaine, still quiet and pensive, just stares at his own hand around Kurt’s wrist.

“I’m trying not to beg here,” Kurt adds, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he takes the bottom one between his teeth.

“No, I—you don’t have to. I miss this, too,” Blaine whispers, moving his hand up Kurt’s arm. He releases his barely-there grip, his fingertips feather-light over the hair and lighting goosebumps as he goes.

Kurt shivers.

“I miss _you_ ,” Blaine continues, sliding closer on the couch. Blaine rests his face in Kurt’s neck and sighs, and the warmth of his breath across Kurt’s skin feels like stepping into the sun on a cold day. “I miss the sounds you make in bed, and I miss watching you come—I miss _making_ you come—”

“Blaine… please...”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Promise me, as soon as I do anything that's too much, you’ll—”

“ _If_ it gets to that point, I’ll say something, I promise.” He leans a little further into Blaine’s touch and whispers, “ _Please._ ”

Blaine slides his arms under Kurt’s knees and around his back, and lifts him from the couch to carry him into their bedroom.

*****

They decide, together, that Kurt should top until they know exactly how different this is going to be. It’s not quite what Kurt has been imagining the past few weeks, but he can hardly contain himself at getting to touch Blaine again. So, he’s happy to do it, especially when Blaine presses him back into the bed and sits on top of him.

And then they realize that Blaine is literally going to break Kurt’s fingers if he can’t stop clenching around them.

“Okay, so… _every_ part of you is super strong. Got it,” Kurt pants, flexing his sore fingers as Blaine massages them..

“I don’t think I can help it,” Blaine says, pouting down at Kurt from his position on Kurt’s lap. “And your dick would be a lot more fragile than your hand, so...”

“So, _you_ should top.”

“Kurt...”

“I know you think it’s dangerous, but… do you know what I picture nowadays, when I think about you fucking me?”

Blaine tilts his head, waiting.

Kurt intertwines their fingers and slowly raises his arms above his head, pulling Blaine forward until he’s leaning over him and pressing his hands into the bed. He relaxes his body as much as he can, going pliant underneath Blaine and blinking up at him until he understands what Kurt needs.

Blaine gets it. He slides his hands down a little to wrap around Kurt’s wrists, then squeezes them, eliciting a gasp from Kurt as his eyes slide shut. “Baby?”

“I want—” Kurt swallows hard, already feeling his body’s response to being pinned underneath Blaine’s. God, he’s _missed_ him. “I want you to hold me down. I want to feel how strong you are. I want to take it, whatever you have to give.”

Blaine leans down and kisses him. “I’d give you anything, I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know, honey, but…” Kurt lifts his chin a little so he can keep their lips touching and whispers, “I want you to be the only thing I can feel for _days_.”

“Oh, fuck... Okay. Okay, we can do this... Safeword?”

“Dalton.”

“That’s right.“

Preparing Kurt takes very little time. Blaine lets him dictate how fast they go, trusting him to say so if something isn’t right, so when Kurt requests two fingers to start, he obliges. Blaine liberally slicks up his fingers, and then Kurt, then sucks and kisses at Kurt’s neck to distract him as he starts to press in.

Kurt lets out a loud groan, his voice tight and his eyes pinched shut at the burn. They’ve started with two plenty of times before, but this is a lot; Blaine’s fingers sink right in, sliding past the natural resistance in one stroke until they’re as deep inside Kurt as they can go.

“Holy shit, Kurt. Was that me, or are you just… really ready?”

“That was you, _fuck_ ,” Kurt gasps, grabbing the pillow on either side of his head and bearing down on Blaine’s fingers to try and get used to the stretch. “Are you—oh, god, _yes_ ,” he moans, as Blaine starts to move his fingers in and out.

“Am I what, baby?”

“Are you pushing hard?”

“It doesn’t feel like it to me, but that doesn’t mean much anymore. Is this okay?” Blaine’s moving steadily, the way he used to do near the end of stretching Kurt open instead of the beginning, but the pressure and the rhythm are enough to work Kurt through the burn a little faster than usual.

Kurt pants, relaxing around Blaine's fingers as his cock stiffens against his stomach. “It’s a lot, but—yeah, it's very okay. Keep going.”

Blaine adds a third finger and more lubricant, again pressing his fingers in steadily instead of working them in, and Kurt makes a high, whining noise in his throat. “Little bit more and then—I just want you, okay?”

“Still want this, too?” Blaine asks after a moment, slowly running his other hand up Kurt’s arm until he can guide Kurt’s hands above his head. He wraps one hand around both of Kurt’s wrists and presses them down, then grips Kurt’s hip with the other as he settles between his legs.

“Uh-huh.” Kurt relaxes against the bed and closes his eyes. Even without the extra strength, the feeling of Blaine’s bare skin against his own, his lips on Kurt’s neck, and his hard cock resting against Kurt’s ass is enough to make him squirm with anticipation. He tries to move his arms, testing, but he can’t go anywhere. With one hand, and what feels like very little effort, Blaine’s keeping him in place.

God, _yes._

“Come on,” says Kurt, tilting his face up until Blaine leans down to meet him. He bites at Blaine’s bottom lip, kisses at his jaw, and whispers, “Just like I said, okay? I want it hard. Make me feel it. Trust me.”

Blaine nods, pressing their foreheads together, then pushes inside him in one _very_ hard thrust.

The loud, scratchy sob that rips from Kurt’s throat gets swallowed in a kiss, Blaine nuzzling at him and watching him carefully as he grinds his hips. Kurt crosses his ankles behind Blaine’s back, curling up a little as he adjusts and the burn gives way to full, blunt pressure. Blaine is already as deep inside him as he can go. “Just keep moving, please, fuck me, _fuck me,_ ” Kurt begs, his voice going small as Blaine does as he’s asked.

Blaine keeps a hold on Kurt’s wrists, but he also wraps an arm around Kurt’s back, lifting him to make the angle a little better. He’s rewarded with low, gasping moans from Kurt, who’s panting in time with their creaking bed frame as he tips his head back and takes it.

After a few moments, though, he hears Kurt sniffle.

“Kurt, shit, am I hurting you?” He slows his pace, then stops and lets go of Kurt’s wrists. They’ve already started to bruise, along with Kurt’s hips where they’re slamming against each other, Blaine notices, grimacing. He tilts Kurt’s face towards him and kisses his wet cheeks. “Baby, you okay? Look at me.”

Kurt slowly blinks his eyes open, wiping them with the balls of his hands before he wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck. “I’m—I’m great,” he laughs, shaking his head.

“I’m not being too rough? Please, I can’t hurt you like this, I can’t—”

“No, shhh, you’re perfect, I promise. This is exactly what I wanted. I’m just… being sappy, I guess, because I missed you.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and kisses Kurt’s forehead, then rolls his hips just to pull another moan from him. “Okay, you scared me. But, I get what you mean. Fuck, you feel so good, Kurt. I can’t believe I went this long without you.”

“Yeah. _Too_ long. God, I’m so close already.”

“Really? I feel like I could keep going for hours.”

Kurt swallows. “Hours, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” Blaine lowers his mouth to Kurt’s ear, sucking at the skin just beneath it until Kurt groans and digs his blunt fingernails into Blaine’s back. “You know, the last time I got myself off, when you were at school all day... it went on for ages. It took me an hour to make myself come. And then I did it again. Just kept going, and going… It must be the superpowers. I guess extra strength means extra stamina, too.” He reaches underneath Kurt to squeeze at his ass and says, “I’m not gonna keep holding you down, okay? That’s more than enough bruises for now. But I wonder…”

“Y-yeah?”

Blaine presses at the purple marks on Kurt’s hips, making Kurt gasp into his mouth and rut desperately against him.

“Fuck, _please—”_

“How many times do you think I can make you come tonight, Kurt?”

Kurt shudders and spreads his legs, sighing happily as he settles into Blaine’s hold.

“I’m in it for the long haul, B. Let’s find out.”


End file.
